


RGG Loveweek 2021

by nishikimbos



Category: JUDGE EYES: 死神の遺言 | Judgment, 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Tags will be at the top of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishikimbos/pseuds/nishikimbos
Summary: A compilation of short pieces for RGG Loveweek! I'll update these as I come up with them. Currently I'm planning on covering a wide range of relationships (not all romantic in nature). Impulsively written, but hopefully sweet- like a box of candy hearts! Some will be accompanied by illustrations (M rated or less- nothing explicit).  Enjoy!
Relationships: Akiyama Shun/Tanimura Masayoshi, Dojima Daigo/Shinada Tatsuo, Someya and Hiromi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. 1. Words of Affirmation (ShinaDai)

**[Tags: Praise kink, suggested sex]**

**[Rating: M]**

“Your arms are incredible, Tatsuo.”

“A-ah. You think so? I mean I have— aah— a lot of time, so…”

“Don’t be so humble. You’ve kept up with quite a regiment, and it shows.”

“Th-thanks, Dojima-san.”

“Just Daigo, Tatsuo. How long have we known each other?”

“O-oh. Right.”

“And your pectorals and really well-developed. Beautiful, even.”

“D-Doji… I mean, Daigo…”

“Hmm?”

“P-please…”

“Please, what?”

“I-I’m getting a little— haa— It’s just… what you’re saying…”

“What I’m saying? Do you not like compliments? I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just feel so lucky to have you.”

“I-it’s not that, I…”

“What is it? Don’t be ashamed, Tatsuo. You’re amazing. You’re gorgeous.I want to make sure you hear that.”

“I… AaAh!!”

Shinada collapsed on top of Daigo, spent from an orgasm that dissolved into small twitches coursing through his body.

“… Tatsuo?”

When he looked back up at Daigo, it was with abashed eyes hiding under a knit brow and half-closed lids. His cheeks were pink, and Daigo could feel them, feverish and warm on his chest.

“… Tatsuo, do you have a praise kink?”

“It sounds worse when you say it like _that_!”

\---


	2. 2. Physical Touch [Akiyama/Tanimura]

**[Tags: touch sensitivity, touch starvation, hot and cold dynamic, a run-on sentence that isn't actually a run on sentence, semi-ahegao for the picture?]**

**[Rating: M]**

People wondered what made Akiyama put up with the generally prickly, often infuriating demeanor of one especially parasitic cop frequently seen in the narrow alleys of Little Asia. He was so congenial and good with people, after all, generally pleasant, playful, and laid back.

A stark contrast to Masayoshi Tanimura, who even his few friends could speak warmly about. Resourceful, they might say, struggling to portray him in a particularly beaming light. Determined, although that would be said begrudgingly, and maybe after a few drinks they’d even admit that he was ultimately a goodguy, just that he made damned sure people didn’t know it. They’d be much more enthusiastic describing him as a pissant, fucking awful to play mahjong with, and always an asshole at the worst fucking times. And don’t even get them started on that stupid scowl that never seemed to leave his stupid face, like he always had some shit to say.

Akiyama would wave it away with a laugh. Oh, he has his charms, everyone does.

You’re just being charitable, Mr. Akiyama. The way you always are.

And when he smiled that smile that crinkled his eyes and knit his brow in a way that suggested that he was being exceedingly polite but that the client was ultimately wasting his time because there was no way they’d meet the terms of his loan, it wasn’t because he knew some sort of deep truth about Tanimura like there was some sort of secretly magnanimous side to him that only he knew about but because he was, instead, thinking about the way all of _that_ Tanimura melted away into a panting, barely lucid puddle of human goo if anyone so much as grazed that taut stretch of skin above his hip and below his ribcage. The way he was so touch starved that even so much as breathing on the nape of his neck or running a thumb over his collarbone would short-circuit his entire brain and turn him into an enticingly pliable and accommodating toy wrapped in that lithe boy-cop body. The pleading flicker of desperation that replaced the scowl of disapproval that was always at home on his prematurely crinkled forehead, well, that was just a bonus.

He has his charms, Akiyama hums. Everyone does.

\---

[Mature image warning- Not explicit just uhhh kinda sexy]


	3. 3. Gift Giving/Receiving (Tha Judgment Boyz+Saori)

**[tags: genfic, gift-giving, vague descriptions, reader's perspective/second person, SaorixCake]**

**[Rating: G]**

Yagami isn’t great at the whole gift thing. It’s not really his, what do they call them, his love language?That doesn’t mean he won’t put in an effort- he definitely will. It just won’t especially look like he did. Wrapping presents isn’t really his thing, so he’ll bag it since that’s generally cheaper and easier. You can bet that his gift will be thoughtful, though. Strangely apt. Maybe just the thing you said you needed a while back but didn’t expect to get because you didn’t think he was listening. Or maybe he just deduced it. He is a detective, after all.

Kaito, in case the blaring decibels of his shirt didn’t clue you in, likes his presents big and loud. Bigger is always better, he says with a wink, and, okay, sure, so you might not actually have the space to put whatever it is, but in a weird way, it’s a good gift. It makes sense, in a Kaito sort of way.You can see his thought process behind it, and it’s not like you _dislike_ the present. You actually kind of dig it. It’s the kind of present you’ll make room for, once you’re done being flabbergasted by the sheer audacity of the thing. You know he picked out the wrapping paper, but there’s no way he wrapped it himself. Yes, Higashi says, rolling his eyes, I wrapped the present, if you have to ask. Kaito beams.

Speaking of which, Higashi’s present is beautiful. Understated. It’s an absolute gem in its presentation and its delivery. You can imagine his elegant hands creasing the luxe, carefully selected wrapping paper with that concentrated diligence that just kind of defines Higashi. He folds wrapping paper and ties ribbons like he was born doing it.He takes pride in every single thing about the present and points out a detail you may have missed about it. It’s hard to get over how simultaneously exquisite and thoughtful it is. Kaito’s a little miffed, because your speechlessness at Higashi’s gift is more of the dazzled variety, like you can’t believe it’s real and that it’s _yours_.Higashi doesn’t say much, but he straightens his back a little and shoots a triumphant glance at Kaito as a corner of his lip quirks.

Sugiura passes off his gift like it was no big deal, and maybe for him, it wasn’t. It’s something rare and unconventional, something you never dreamed of actually getting your hands on, ever, but for Sugiura, was probably just a matter of waiting and maybe a quick sleight of hand. He smiles a cheshire cat’s smile, pleased by your reaction. He tosses it to you effortlessly, and the wrapping paper is playful and fun. He probably wrapped it himself, but he didn’t do a bad job of it. He’s good with his hands, after all.Precious things never meant much to him, so of course he has no problem flinging it around like a cheap toy, but it’s his sure hands and dexterity that throw it in a way that guarantees you’ll catch it. But in case you do fumble it, he’ll catch it, quickly and lightly, because of course he would.

Hoshino is more excited about his gift than you are and he can hardly contain himself as you open it. As soon as you reveal the gift, he immediately begins explaining and pointing out its features. His enthusiasm is cute and infectious. The gift itself is practical and you can see why he’s so into it- actually, you’re kind of into it too. All it takes is a genuine smile and a thank you to have him blushing and grinning, elated by your satisfaction and his own enchantment with the item. He’s so genuine it hurts and you can see hints of smiles tugging at the corners of everyone else’s faces. He reaches for the gift bag- it’s bright, with surprisingly on-trend colors- saying that he can take it if you don’t. Old habit, something his mom used to do. You keep it instead, because it _is_ a nice bag, and your parents used to do the same thing. He flushes with pleasure at the common ground.

Saori interrupts the moment and in a shocking display of charity, places a large, decadent cake right in the middle of where everyone is situated. The box speaks for itself. Her unsmiling and grim countenance betray the lengths she had to go through to get this cake, and exactly how large of a sacrifice it is for her to share it.She wordlessly dishes out small plates and forks to everyone before unboxing the beautiful confection and cutting herself a particularly large first slice.

Sharing it with everyone else is enough. For the lengths she went through to get this, she deserves it. And everyone else does too.A little.


	4. 4. Quality Time [Someya + Hiromi]

**[tags: genfic, father and daughter, fluff, wholesome]**

**[Rating: G]**

“Papa, what’s a _soirée_?”

The word was foreign on her tongue and it was evident from how carefully she weighed and delivered each syllable. Su-wa. Reh-ee.

“Hm?”

Hiromi was not an especially demanding child, but she was perceptive, and like many perceptive children her age, she was especially attuned to the inattention of adults. She asked again, with a measured patience as she watched her father check something on his phone. They were seated at opposite ends of an onyx dining table, modern and clean in its lines and design.

“What’s a soirée?”

Someya picked up on the slightest tone of impatience in his normally even-tempered daughter. He put his phone away and directed his full attention to her.

“A soirée? Where did you hear that?”

“At school. The teacher read a book in class and talked about a soirée.”

“A soirée, huh? It’s just a fancy dinner party.”

“Have you been to one?”

He thought about the many glitzy, glamorous, tiresome nighttime events he had been invited to over his years in his comfortable position as patriarch for an up and coming subsidiary in Japan’s largest criminal organization. Many of them were political. He couldn’t recall a single soirée that he attended on his own volition, for his own pleasure.

“Certainly.They’re parties, but adults usually organize them for other matters. Business matters.”

“Oh.”

He looked at his daughter carefully, noticing the quick downcast of her eyes.

“What is it, Hiromi?”

She fidgeted in a way that children often do when they wanted something. She did want something, but she wasn’t quite sure how to ask for something that was organized by adults for business matters. She was just a child, after all.

But Someya was perceptive too, and he knew his daughter well.

“Are you interested in attending a soirée?”

She tried not to appear over-eager, but couldn’t stop her eyes from lighting up as she glanced back up at her father, who laughed in response.

“Your birthday is coming up. We can organize a soirée for you, if you’d like.”

The light in her eyes was replaced by uncertainty.

“No…”

“No?”

Hiromi fidgeted with the delicate silver spoon she had just used to eat her cereal.

“I want…to go to a real soirée. With Papa.”

There was something to be said about her precocious desire for authenticity, that curiosity of an adult world that she had only just learned about and, in its novelty, craved the experience of.

“A _real_ soirée, huh…,” Someya hummed, amused by her esoteric request. “Well, let me see what I have coming up.”

Hiromi flushed with pleasure at hearing a phrase used by her father with other adults, usually on their phones and looking very serious. It felt very grown-up, very business-like, for him to check to see what he had coming up.

The corner of Someya’s lips quirked as he glossed over events that he originally had no intention of attending. They were usually scheduled as _suggestions_ , and he was choosy with his time. 

But, well, for his princess, he could make an exception.

“What kind of soirée would you be interested in? I have something at an art gallery in about a week, and there’s a dinner party at that hotel where we had tea for Children’s Day.”

Hiromi had seen art galleries before on field trips with her classmates, but something about that space being filled with very serious adults in very fancy clothes made her eyes sparkle. She had seen scenes like these in movies, stark white walls with paintings and sculptures on display surrounded by glitzy grown-ups adorned with shiny watches and jewelry. The women often wore long, beautiful dresses, and the men always looked sleek in their black suits with the tapered waists. Everyone always held elegant-looking glasses filled with pale golden liquid which sparkled as they passed by spots of harsh gallery lighting.

“The art gallery!”

“Ah, such a cultured choice, Hiromi,” Someya smiled, tapping on the event in his phone. “And it’s a Fragonard exhibit. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Hiromi was a rather reserved child, quiet in her speech and mannerisms, so excitement for her manifested in bowed head to hide the overwhelming glimmer that welled in her eyes and the pinks of her cheeks, as if her small head couldn’t contain all the exuberance.

“We can go shopping for a new dress in the morning, then schedule a styling for after lunch,” Someya suggested, deftly booking the day.“Some people will usually prepare a whole new look for these things, if the event calls for it. We should put our best foots forward, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes!” Hiromi replied, beaming like the sun. “Papa has to get a new outfit too!”

“Of course. I can’t let my princess attend without the perfect accessory.”

Hiromi giggled at the thought of her proud, stylish father being an accessory, like a handbag or a scarf. She finished her breakfast and went to school in the highest spirits, a buoyant cloud of joy and anticipation for her very first _soirée._

—

The event was an exhibit thrown by a fairly new company and asset to a Tojo clan subsidiary- Essentially a way for the CEO to flex his own sophistication and create an avenue for rubbing elbows with some of the need-to-knows of Kamurocho. Oh and it was going to feature Fragonard, who, to the CEO, seemed like a cultured choice. At least, that’s what his assistant had recommended.

Even in her excitement for the big day, Hiromi woke up dutifully cleaned her bed and folded her pajamas neatly, perhaps with a tad more haste than she would normally. The hint of a smile played constantly at the corners of her lips.

After breakfast she followed her father down to the freshly cleaned and polished limo that would be transporting them between errands.

“Do you know what you want to wear today, Hiromi?” He asked as she clambered into the seat opposite of him. He was looking through his phone, confirming reservations and appointments that he had made throughout the day.

“I asked my teacher about Fragonard,” she said, smiling with slight pride at her initiative. “He is a French artist.”

“Well, someone did their homework,” Someya mused. “So something a little more rococo? That would pair nicely with the exhibit.”

“Is rococo like the movie we saw about the monster and the lady?” She asked. “I liked her dress in that movie.”

“ _Un Monster á Paris_? That’s a little more turn of the century, but we can see what’s in the area. Shinjuku should have something suitable for what you’re looking for,” he waved to the driver, indicating their destination and subsequent departure.

The drive was short, but gave Hiromi plenty of time to talk about what she had been learning in school, what happened in the book that had introduced her to the concept of the soirée, and all the practice she had been doing for an upcoming _hiragana_ test. Someyalistened with rapt attention, partly because she was the light of his life but also partly because she was rarely this talkative. Everything she shared she did with slow, measured words tinged with a hint of pride, like she felt the need to impress him, as if she needed to _earn_ this day out with her father.

He scoffed to himself. It’s the adults who wouldn’t be worthy of her presence, but she didn’t need to know about his inner cynicism about such an event, which he had considered little more than a playground for his daughter.

Their first stop was at a couture fashion house called Mischka Aoki. The dresses were lavish, to put it frankly, all feathery tulle, sequins, airy ruffles, and powdery pale color palettes. While Someya certainly liked to make damn well sure people knew he had money, a part of him wished with some degree of restraint that maybe his daughter’s tastes would veer a little less… extravagant.

That wasn’t to say she wouldn’t be able to pull it off, of course. She had cute, doll-like face that was especially suited to especially feminine styles present in the store, if the cooing and the fawning of the shop attendants was anything to go by.They went into the store for a fitting, which Hiromi endured with good-natured patience. Someya waited outside, a tapping foot the only thing betraying his reluctance to indulge in this particular shop and its particular style.

Hiromi came out empty handed. With perfect manners and practiced speech, she thanked the store attendant and told her father that she was ready to leave.Someya allowed himself the lowest exhale of relief.

“Not quite your style? Some of those dresses would have matched the Fragonard paintings quite nicely,” he said, half jokingly.

She gave him a look that was part pained and part apologetic.

“Um. It’s not for me,” she said carefully, diplomatically. Someya laughed at the measured tone of her words.

They visited a couple other brands on the strip, all some form of designer, some on the higher end avant garde of things, others a little more street style Harajuku.

They spent most of their time in a demure little shop called Axes Femme. As Hiromi walked through the aisled, peering carefully at rows of dresses and skirts, Someya inwardly congratulated himself on raising a little girl with such taste. She was rather reserved, sure, but he was still pleasantly surprised by her interest in the less flashy, more ladylike silhouettes that adorned the shop.

She settled on a dusty pink dress with lacy off-white embellishments. It had a clean silhouette, but the material felt expensive and the lace was soft. Someya went to the register to pay when he noticed his daughter gazing at something in the window.

“Hiromi? Did you want that too?”

Hiromi whipped around, startled by her father’s voice. She immediately turned bashful and avoided eye contact with him.

It always amused Someya how humble and down to earth his daughter was. Few children could boast the experiences that her father felt were hers by right, emblematic of his steady, hard-earned rise to a certain station in life. And yet between designer clothing and furnishings, Michelin-star meals, and a personal, private limo that dropped her off at the gates of a prestigious private school, Hiromi still felt hesitation at asking for anything. Where did such humility come from?

Someya pushed the question further into the back of his mind, knowing where the answer lie. He wasn’t ready to confront that yet.

He glanced beyond Hiromi’s avoidant face and looked at the item in the window. It was shortcoat of a rich burgundy with tawny fur lining the collar and sleeves. 

He gestured towards the coat and gave the attendant his credit card.

“And we’ll take the one in the window too. Make sure it fits my daughter, and find a matching pair of shoes to go with it.”

The store was a typical retail store, so while that level of service wasn’t customarily given, the shop attendant knew better than to argue with a man with that tone of voice and with that kind of credit card.

—  
  


They left the store to the sun high in the sky and the air brisk. Hiromi was still feeling a little shy about the coat, but she was very clearly pleased by it.

“You certainly have a good eye for coordinates,” Someya said warmly. “Dusty pink and burgundy is a timeless pair. Feminine, but sophisticated.”

“I just think it looks nice,” Hiromi said shyly but smiling in her quiet, pleased way at her father’s compliment.

“Well, you’re right. It does look nice,” he replied. “Are you about ready for lunch? How about high tea for the young lady?”

In a rare show of exuberance, Hiromi looked up and grinned in response.

—

Their spot for high tea was an often-frequented establishment by both Someya and Hiromi. He liked its privacy despite its popularity as one of the more coveted spots in the city for lunch fare. Hiromi liked it because of their especially elegant 3-tier towers and tea-sets.

The hostess smiled warmly at Someya and showed him to their table, which was situated in a corner with an especially panoramic view of the Shinjukucho area.The sun filtering through the floor to ceiling glass warmed the corner comfortably, and despite the chill of the weather outside, the cafe was air conditioned to even out the temperature created by the trapped sunlight on the floor. The result was an environment that was perfectly warm and bright.

They ordered their usual- an afternoon high tea for two. Someya ordered a rare oolong, and Hiromi chose her favorite green tea with hints of blackberry.

In the past year or so, Hiromi felt that she had outgrown the children’s “Enchanted Forest” offering of the teahouse and instead opted for the full-service afternoon tea that she had seen her father order. The frosted scones that came with the “Enchanted Forest” set was always too cloyingly sweet for her anyway.

Their tea came in matching pots of exquisite china, elegant white porcelain decorated with cerulean blue designs depicting cranes standing beside rivers and flowers drifting from their branches. Hiromi sat serenely as she waited for the tea to steep.

“What did you get, Papa?

Someya laughed, surprised by her uncharacteristic display of initiative. He was usually the one to start the conversation.

“You really are excited about this, aren’t you?” He mused. “This is a Li Shan Oolong called Drunken Princess.”

“O-oh,” Hiromi murmured, taken aback by the name of the tea. “Um. Am I allowed to try some?”

“You usually don’t like oolongs.”

“Yes, but I want to try. But not if…”

“There’s no alcohol in it. That’s just the name of the tea.I’ll trade one cup of mine for one of yours.”

“But you’ve already had this tea.”

“Oh, so Papa’s only allowed to drink one kind of tea now?”

Hiromi flushed as her father teased her and ultimately failed in suppressing a giggle. Their server came with milk and sugar for their teas as well as their lunch served on the lovely serving tower that Hiromi loved so much. No matter how many times they came here, the sparkle in her eyes never dimmed and Someya never got tired at watching her look of wonder.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Hiromi,” the server said with a bow. “Mr. Someya.”

“Thank you very much. It’s a pleasure to be back,” Hiromi responded with poise and enunciation.

The server smiled in response with genuine affection for the well-behaved young regular. While the staff at the cafe always regarded Someya with thinly-veiled wariness - something about that guy was just _scary_ \- everyone adored Hiromi with her sweet face and perfectly practiced manners.

“Your tea is ready. Please don’t hesitate to call us over for anything.”

He left a porcelain bell at the side of their table. Hiromi looked at it longingly. It was always there, but she never had a reason to use it and had always been curious about the feel of its cool, smooth handle and the sound it evoked. Her father drew her attention away from the service bell as he reached for her teapot.

“Let me.”

Resigning herself to her father’s service, Hiromi watched as a rich, reddish amber flowed smoothly from the spout of her teapot into the dainty china cup below it. Then she watched as he poured a cup for himself and took an exploratory sip.

“Did you want to try some now? Oolong changes flavor between steeps. The second cup might be stronger, so you might not like it as much.”

“Oh. Okay. You can have my cup, Papa.”

They switched cups. Then Hiromi, in a sudden gesture of graciousness offered him the milk and sugar on the tray in front of her.

“Cream and sugar for you, sir?”

Someya had to exhale sharply through his nose to avoid laughing at his daughter’s sudden change in tone, and the deftness with which she had assumed it. His resolve broke when an amused smile spread slowly across her face. They dissolved into peals of laughter.

—

The rest of the day passed quickly. After a hair appointment and a gander through a menswear boutique so Someya could pick out an outfit to match his daughter, they returned to the apartment in Kamurocho. Someya noticed his daughter noticeably less talkative on the ride back.

“I could use a nap too,” he said, noticing her nodding off in the car. It had been a long day, after all.

“Adults don’t take naps,” she responded drowsily, struggling to keep her head up.

“Well, this adult does and no one can tell me otherwise. Not even a princess.”

Her exhaustion had taken over her, and Someya smiled at her helpless silence.They still had a few hours left in the day, and while shopping and tea hardly winded him- it was certainly less tiring than listening to Tojo executives in stuffy meetings- taking a couple hours off to catch up on work while Hiromi napped seemed like a perfect use of their time before the actual evening event. He started responding to emails on his phone on one hand while he scooped up his drowsing daughter in the other.

—

Someya had unwittingly fallen asleep at his desk. Whether it was the inexplicable food coma that always followed tea and way too many starches or the quiet of the apartment he wasn’t sure. He sat up, perplexed, and took a few minutes to gather his bearings. It was a little past 6:30 PM. The event was at 7, but it never paid to be too early to these things. Still, he knew Hiromi would be distressed if she had to be rushed while getting ready, so he went to her room to wake her.

She was roused awake and sat up eyes still closed and brows knitted in concern.

“Did we miss the so…soir…”

“No, of course not, but we do have to get ready.”

She sleepily murmured something in agreement then rummaged around her bed, attempting to find the edge so she could get out. Still disoriented, she clumsily grabbed her father’s offered hand and eventually made her way out of bed. She yawned hugely before gasping at her lack of manners and clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Ah! My manners!”

Someya chuckled and stroked her hair.

“Don’t forget those at the event. All right, I’ll leave you to it. Ring the bell if you need help.”

Hiromi nodded as she toddled over to her closet, the remnants of sleep making her steps clumsy and awkward.

—

Someya wasn’t really one for warmer colors, but he had to admit, the change of pace was kind of nice, and he could help but want to preen when he matched so perfectly with his daughter. He matched her dusty pink dress with a slim-fitting cashmere turtleneck of a similar shade and her new burgundy coat with a styling burgundy blazer of his own.

They made quite a striking pair in their subdued, warm tones.

He could tell Hiromi felt the same by the blush that didn’t leave her cheeks and the way she kicked her feet in her dainty new boots the same shade as her coat.

“I don’t think there’s much I need to remind you of for the soirée.Just have fun, okay?”

Hiromi nodded emphatic, an excited smile playing at her lips. The car stopped in front of their destination- a nondescript art gallery on the edge of the city near Senryo Avenue. There were several other luxury cars parked out front. Someya found himself begrudgingly impressed by some of the models. Maybe there might be something worth his time at the event after all.

They checked in with the host, who found them on the guest list and ushered them with a practice congeniality.

The staff had been prepared to receive them with a rehearsed graciousness or otherwise face Someya’s ire. As the gallery was fairly new, pissing off a Tojo clan patriarch was decidedly not in their best interest, and playing nice with a yakuza’s young daughter was a small price to pay in face of potential consequences.

Besides, how could they not? She was legitimately such a polite, well-mannered child. It didn’t take long for the wait staff and gallery curators to warm up to her, considering they were expecting some sort of headstrong brat. Some of these yakuza kids just threw around their parents’ names as if that meant anything or would earn them a fraction of the respect or affection they craved.

But Hiromi’s soft-spoken politeness won over the staff quickly and easily. Throughout the evening, the looks of curiosity, sometimes even disapproval or dismissiveness melted away in the face of Someya’s haughtily tilted chin and in Hiromi’s dutiful following of her father.

“Ah, Mr. Someya! Such an honor! I was not expecting a man of your caliber to attend our humble little event. What a treat!”

A rather slick looking man came striding towards Someya and Hiromi. His suit was flashy, as were the rings on his fingers and the gold chain at his neck. He wasn’t yakuza, but he certainly looked the part.

“Ah, Mr. Morita, I presume? I believe this our first time meeting. This is my daughter, Hiromi. She’s quite a fan of Fragonard.”

Morita cast a cursory glance at Hiromi, and his lack of attention did not go unnoticed by Someya. Hiromi didn’t betray whether she had noticed or not, but immediately interjected with a greeting of her own.

“Thank you for hosting such a wonderful event,” she said, bowing. “It’s a pleasure to be here tonight.”

Morita was taken aback by the response to his dismissiveness. In an attempt to save face, he offered her his hand, which was taken promptly by Someya.

“It’s great to finally make your acquaintance. I’m certainly looking forward to how you’ll be contributing to our vibrant community here in Kamurocho.”

With a curt bow and a firm handshake that all but indicated finality, Someya steered Hiromi away towards a waitress with a plate of hors d'oeuvres.

—

As the evening progressed, Someya took careful note of how people responded to him and Hiromi. He had no doubt his daughter was enjoying herself in the experience of the soirée, because there’s something to be said about experiencing something new and especially one that had painted itself to be something so unique and exotic in the frame of your mind, especially if you were a young girl with a propensity for books and glamor. He, however, had turned the evening into something of a scouting mission, picking out who in the present company might be worth his time in the future and who wasn’t.

“Papa, look!”

Hiromi tugged at her father’s hand while he was lost in thought. She pointed at the centerpiece painting bathing in the stark, warm glow of a gallery spotlight. It was Fragonard’s _The Swing_ , arguably his most famous painting.

“What do you think?”

Hiromi beamed, eager to share her findings from weeks of research in preparation for the event.

“It’s the painting that inspired _Tangled!_ ”

“Oh, that’s right. You liked _Tangled_ , didn’t you?”

She nodded happily.

“Her dress is so beautiful! It looks like the ones we saw in the first store we went to today.”

Someya laughed, feeling his antipathy towards the event melt away in the light of his daughter’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it sure does. How much do you think it cost?”

“Mmm… Maybe fifty thousand yen?”

“Not a bad guess. This one looks a lot longer than the dresses we saw in that store though.”

“Maybe five hundred thousand yen.”

He laughed again, warm and genuine as he smoothed his daughter’s hair and let the attendees of the event melt away in the warmth of their conversation.

—

While they didn’t stay for much longer, Someya found himself in considerably higher spirits leaving than he did coming in. Ultimately, he wasn’t even at the event for himself but for Hiromi, whose flushed cheeks and bright eyes indicated that the soirée was all she had imagined.

Instead of heading straight home, they decided to swing by for ice cream at Hiromi’s favorite gelato store on Tenkaichi before heading home. It was a little late, and certainly past her bedtime, but he doubted he’d even be able to get her to sleep at this point anyway.

And a part of him wanted to stay awake a little longer with her.

“So? How was the soirée?” He asked, picking delicately at a cone of stracciatella.

“It was fine. A lot of the people there were quite nice. I liked the old man who talked to me about Fragonard.”

They were sitting on a bench outside the gelato store, oblivious to the stares of people perplexed by their noticeably coordinated appearance.

“Yes, he seemed quite knowledgable.”

“He said he used to work in museums.”

“That would explain it.”

There was a pause as they ate their ice cream. Hiromi munched thoughtfully on a stick of pocky that she had pulled from her pink swirl of strawberries and cream.

“I think it was more fun because of the paintings.”

Someya arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Why is that?”

Hiromi nodded her head from side to side as she chose her words.

“It was fun to look at them and talk about them, but I noticed a lot of adults weren’t really doing anything either,” she mused, recalling what she had observed during the evening. “Maybe the snacks helped too.”

“The adults were probably talking about adult things.”

“Maybe. But they didn’t look like they were very interested.”

She picked at the second stick of pocky.

“I think the most interesting people were talking about the paintings.”

Someya let a smile slowly warm his features, pleased with how perceptive she was. It was fascinating how much she picked up, inexperienced and young though she was.

“I think most people of the interesting people were talking to you.”

Ever humble, she meekly gave her ice cream another lick.

“I was just doing what you taught me.”

“Yes, but you carried yourself so well. Maybe I’ll just send you to all my meetings from now on since I don’t have the patience to be so nice to people.”

Even though Hiromi shook her head vigorously at the suggestion, her blush indicated how pleased she was by the comment. It’s flattering to be taken so seriously, after all, seriously enough to be given adult responsibilities by your busy and sophisticated father.

They sat, finishing their ice cream as the nightlife of Kamurocho ambled around them, Hiromi warmed by her deep affection, admiration and love for her father and Someya by the light that his beloved daughter brought to his life so often tainted by the darkness of adults and their ambitions.


End file.
